


May 1792

by CrepuscularPetrichor



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Cheating, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrepuscularPetrichor/pseuds/CrepuscularPetrichor
Summary: A glimpse into Ben and Caleb's post-war years
Relationships: Benjamin Tallmadge/Mary Floyd Tallmadge, Caleb Brewster & Benjamin Tallmadge, Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	May 1792

Ben Tallmadge put down the letter he was reading. He took his coat from the hook, slipped it over his shoulders, and carefully tucked the paper into his pocket. 

“Where are you going?” his wife asked from her seat by the fire, embroidery in hand. 

“Brewster is in town,” Ben told her, “I thought I would meet him for a spell.” 

“Again?” 

Ben turned away from her and closed his eyes, begged himself to have patience. Things had not been well with Mary, lately. 

“Aye, Mary. He is not so often in town that I would miss him when he is already here.” 

“Three or four times a year, and you go to the coast to see him as well.” 

“We served together.” He faced his wife at last. “He was beside me throughout the war.” 

“You see him far more often than any other man you fought beside,” she argued. 

He shook his head. “It’s different. You cannot understand.” 

“That’s true enough,” she muttered into her needlework. 

Ben’s jaw tightened. He did not ask what that was supposed to mean. There were some things between a man and his wife that did not require explanation. Usually, they made no reference to it aloud. He had certainly never said anything about the impossibility of their third child, Maria, nor the continued impossibility of Mary’s current pregnancy. So long as things stayed discreet— so long as things remained understood between them— he did not ask questions. Mary seemed close to breaking that silent promise.

“You’ll be home in time for supper, at least?” Mary asked, taking a break from embroidery to lay a hand on her only-slightly-swollen belly. 

“No,” Ben answered, turning back towards the foyer and picking up his hat from the stand. “I don’t expect I’ll come back tonight.” He did not leave her time to protest before walking out the door. 

So far as Ben was concerned, he’d done his duty as Mary’s husband. He would’ve continued to do it diligently, challenging as it was, if she had not quietly discontinued their marital relationship. Naturally, this suited him better than the concerted effort he had been making, and he had no doubt that whoever had fathered Maria suited Ben’s wife better than he did. 

He walked down the packed dirt street of Litchfield, the center of town just a minute or two from his ostentatious home. The tavern was a lively place, but he was well-known enough— being postmaster gave him some degree of recognition— that there was no chance of hiding among the crowd there. People would see him, having round after round of drinks with the blacksmith from Fairfield. Not that many here knew who Caleb was.

Ben cursed himself as he paced down the street, the evening around him mild and inviting. Summer was almost upon them and the trees were humming, alive with birds and insects. Mary was right, damn her. He and Caleb did visit each other more than was really usual. Even for men from the same town, who had grown up together— neither lived in Setauket now, nor did Caleb even have any family left on Long Island. But Caleb had not served beside Ben in the same capacity as any one of the dragoons under his command, nor as a fellow officer, nor even in the same way Ben had served General Washington. They’d operated the Culper Ring together, a service of which they could speak to no one but the others who had been involved. Spying was not honorable, spymaster an office unbecoming of a gentleman. If Mary even suspected that her husband had run spies, anyone would understand a public disintegration of their marriage. The alternative was to keep that disintegration quiet, over other secrets. 

Ben pushed open the door, spotted Caleb at once, and immediately relaxed. He never realized how tense he was until Caleb’s presence soothed his jangled nerves and taut muscles. Though, they were not as taut as they had been ten years before, when the war was near to ending. 

“Benny boy!” Caleb embraced Ben affectionately, “how are ya?” 

“Glad to see you,” Ben admitted, curling his fingers in Caleb’s coat, holding onto him a moment or two longer than was technically appropriate. 

Caleb pulled back, grinned, lightly slapped Ben’s face, fingers briefly brushing Ben’s jaw before slipping away. “Shall we eat?” 

Ben looked warily at the tavern keeper. If he was honest, he was in no mood for the festive atmosphere of the little pub, nor the stringy mutton he was likely to be served here. “I’d rather eat later, if it’s all the same to you. Would you step out with me? I’ll show you the progress they’ve made on Deming’s new house.” 

Julius Deming was one of Ben’s business partners. His grand, modern home had been under construction for nearly two years already, just across the street from Ben’s. It was still nowhere near complete, but Julius loved to talk about it, and Ben heard constant updates on the progress— and the halts thereto. 

Caleb agreed, raising his eyebrows in that way he had which suggested whatever followed would be more fun than Ben had bargained for. The pair set out into the evening, a chill beginning to come through the air as the sun sank below the houses on the horizon. 

“How’s Anne?” Ben asked, getting it over with. 

“Well enough, though getting quite close to bursting with the latest babe, y’know.” 

Ben did know. He was well aware that Caleb’s four children, fifth on the way, were not gotten the same way Maria had been. Anne was a fine woman, sweet to Ben whenever he visited, and wonderful with Caleb’s children, whom Caleb cherished dearly. Ben was fair certain that Caleb had told her everything— about the war, about Ben, about everything. If he had, she’d taken it well. But Ben would never ask how much exactly Caleb’s wife knew. 

“And yourself?” Ben continued the formalities as they wandered down the east side of North street. 

“Weeellll,” Caleb said, as though he were dangling some real news, “I may be giving up blacksmithing for a time.” 

Ben looked at him with knitted brows. “Why?” 

Caleb shot him a sideways grin, which made Ben smile in turn. “They want me for the cutters. Hamilton himself recommended me, God alone knows why.” 

Ben had some idea why. Hamilton was one of the few men in power who knew anything about the significance of Caleb’s contributions to the war. He’d suggested the United States Revenue Cutter Service to Congress a couple of years back. Ben had mentioned to him, at the time, that Caleb would be perfect for the organization. A former smuggler would have all manner of insight into how to enforce the new legislation against the men in that trade, now that the war was won and privateering was no longer an acceptable side effect of the revolution. 

“Well, that’s great,” Ben said, genuinely pleased. “You’ll be glad to get out on the water again.” 

“Aye.” Caleb had been unable to stay far from the water. Ben wouldn’t admit to the envy this excited in him. It was ridiculous, after all, to be jealous of water. 

Caleb had visited Julius’ house before, on a previous trip to Litchfield. It had grown some, since the last time Caleb was here, the north wing off the back now nearly complete. Ben spent a few moments in pretended observation of the exterior. He wondered if Mary could see them, from the tall windows of their house across the street. He stepped onto the dirt-strewn lawn, maintained by the workmen. He walked slowly forward, agonizingly slowly, pretending to examine the woodwork as he passed. His heart was beginning to beat faster, a quick little rabbit hop concealed in his chest. Caleb, of course, followed. 

They found their way to the back door. Ben couldn’t help but glance around for any unsuspecting passersby, though this part of the house was hidden from its neighbor by a stand of trees Julius had been unwilling to chop down. Ben opened the door, slipped inside, and before he’d had the time to shut it Caleb seized him, both hands on Ben’s face, and was kissing him in that way that made his knees go weak. Caleb’s beard scratched his cheek as his lips pressed Ben against the door. Ben let out a moan all at once, the stress and grief and pleasure of today expelled from him in one steady breath. 

“Quiet, now,” Caleb said, pulling back enough to grin, stroking Ben’s cheek. “Wouldn’t want a stranger to hear yah.” 

Ben took Caleb by the neck and kissed him again. He felt a thigh come between his legs and could not help but drive his hips down to meet it. He would soon be sprawled across Caleb right here on the floor if they did nothing to prevent it, rutting in the hall as though they were still in their misspent youths and not grown, respectable men. It was Caleb. Ben couldn’t stop himself. He had no will to do anything but touch Caleb on the too-few occasions he could. 

Nevertheless, he gathered his wits enough to seize Caleb by the cravat and drag him back to one room which- though nothing in the house could be considered finished- was at least furnished with a bed, a lantern, the basic necessities of a man who may, from time to time, stay over during the construction. And Ben, being the neighbor across the way, had finagled himself a spare key to this house, to this room, where he had come with Caleb a time or two before. 

It was only supposed to be for the length of the war. It was only supposed to survive as long as they did, started back when neither of them thought they’d both live to see freedom. Back when the stress of being an aide to Washington was heaped among all the other troubles on Ben’s twenty-two year old shoulders. And Caleb had been there beside him, recommending treason, finding the bright side of every dark situation, navigating Long Island Sound with the ease of a man who had spent more years on water than on land, even if that was not quite true. It had been easy to fall into something, then. Too easy, when all it took was a grin or a nudge to persuade Ben to follow Caleb. 

Caleb had saved him from death, and Ben had in turn saved Caleb, always ready with a pistol or a cutlass or a knife, ready to kill any man who threatened Caleb’s life. Until Caleb couldn’t stand under the weight of everything he had endured, until the largest threat to Caleb’s security was his own despair, and Ben didn’t know what to do. Caleb found his own way through— by the grace of God alone, as far as anyone could credit it. Ben had certainly not done anything to help. He’d let Caleb go, and let him find his own way back. 

Sheets mussed, slick with sweat and panting, Ben slid his index finger over the dark strip of hair that trailed down Caleb’s chest, past his bellybutton. Caleb opened a bleary eye to watch as Ben’s mouth followed his finger, leaving wet kisses in a line along Caleb’s sternum. 

“Christ, Ben, don’t you ever tire?” Caleb asked, stretching and groaning. “I may not be as young as you, but you’re not as young as you used to be, either.” 

“No,” Ben agreed, between nibbling at Caleb’s ribs, “But I don’t want to stop, all the same.” 

Caleb huffed a chuckle and laid his head back down on the pillow, stroking his hand up Ben’s naked back. His thumb wandered over the bumps of Ben’s vertebrae. It didn’t matter that Caleb had happily impregnated his wife for a fifth time (though Ben couldn’t bring himself to do the same). It didn’t matter that they only saw each other a handful or two of times a year (though this rankled a little more than Ben would ever mention). Ben knew Caleb would always want him like this, would always come back to him like this. After all, they’d planned to do it only as long as they both lived.


End file.
